


Reportage

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dictatorship, Investigative Reporters, M/M, Partnership, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 05:31:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13827534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: Investigative journalists Merlin and Arthur uncover the truth about their government's unlawful actions. That puts them in the gravest danger while their budding romance threatens to be cut short.





	Reportage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rou/gifts).



> (i) I wish to thank my wonderful, miracle maker beta, Crideon, who is ten kinds of lovely and prompt.
> 
> (ii) This is for Brolinskeep, who bid on me at the Coinelot auction. I hope that you enjoy the story or that it works for you a little bit. Either way I had fun writing and editing it.

The air was warm; the sun shone on the concrete buildings of Kamelotskaya. Tufts of grass grew between slabs of cement and ladybugs hopped from one blade to another. A fountain spilled water in the courtyard facing the principal entrance. People passed the great doors to the block of flats; mothers with prams, men with their shopping bags, youngsters with their gym kit, kids with their toys.

Despite the bustle though, everything seemed quite still, a moment in time sliced out of the life of the many.

The moment was interrupted by a group of men, wearing distinctive fatigues, who entered the building's basement, disappearing into its darkness. They re-emerged ten minutes later, not unnoticed, but no one alerted the authorities. It did not occur to anyone to do so until after the fact.

At 4:13 PM, an explosion rent two floors of the building apart, one section collapsing entirely down on the next. The casalties were thirty dead with many more wounded. The repercussions, however, were immeasurable.

 

****

 

Merlin closed his laptop, pocketed his thumb drive and turned the lights off in his office. Barring security, there was no one left in the building. With dawn, and the start of a new workday, just a few hours off, most of the common areas like the newsroom and the breakroom were still lit, but the private ones were darkened. Turning his collar up, and bidding goodnight to the watchman, Merlin left the premises.

He started along the street. The pavement was splotchy with puddles, shiny from the fresh rain, of which only a drizzle still fell. There were no pedestrians out at this late hour in this part of town, the neon lights of empty shops brightening the path in a mockery of daylight.

He stopped at a crossing, waiting for the green light, then made it to the other sight of the street. As he walked, he mailed and texted, setting up appointments for the following day. A winding street intersected with the one he was on. He had just passed it, when he heard the sound of footsteps.

In and of itself it was an innocuous sound, just someone heading home, or perhaps taking the late night air. Merlin was out and about, and so was this person. But in light of his job, his latest enquiries, Merlin was immediately suspicious.

He lengthened his stride, moving faster while surrepetitiously trying to catch a glimpse of the person advancing in his wake. Without making it obvious he was looking, he couldn't see much. It was a man. His garb, heft, and span told the tale. He was wrapped in a raincoat that seemed grey in the moonlight. His face was undetectable under the brim of a hat.

Merlin walked faster, heading for a bus stop now, intending to catch the first night bus he saw and be rid of his follower.

The man behind him also increased his speed.

By now Merlin was fairly sure he was being tailed. A sinking feeling gripped him. Cold sweat broke on his skin. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to deal with the situation. He was a bloody journalist, not a spy. Still, he had a brain, and he made himself use it.

He made himself go slower. His tail mustn't find out that Merlin was aware of him, he decided. He had to keep his cool. With little hope of shedding pursuit, Merlin turned sharply left, then right.

The man followed his movements. He was getting closer, too.

Merlin swallowed hard, then broke into a run.

His tail picked up speed too, putting paid to all theories as to his being a casual passerby.

Merlin hurtled across the street, and despite the late hour, a car was passing at that very moment, directly in his path. The car hit him, but he tumble-slid over the bonnet and thankfully landed on his feet on the other side of the street. He took off running again, ignoring the blare of the car horn which followed him. The crash had slowed him down and his tail had closed the gap between them.

Taking a chance, Merlin darted into an arcade. His footfalls echoed as he rushed past empty shops and shuttered food courts. To elude pursuit, he jumped over tables, and dashed along long walkways and corridors. His tail was still behind him, but Merlin had put some space between them.

He rushed towards the exit and skidded outside. It was raining harder now; in sheets. Merlin got drenched, his clothing sticking to his body, but he didn't let it stop him. He dashed down the street, the man behind slipping and slowing down even further.

An unoccupied taxi trundled past.

Merlin angled towards his salvation, and waved his arms in broad, flashy movements. Just as the driver saw him, a bullet whistled right past Merlin’s ear. Not stopping in his dash towards the cab, he glanced back to see the man careening behind him, waving a gun openly now.

Merlin put on a desperate burst of speed towards the slowing cab. He circled round the front of the taxi and dove into the backseat before the vehicle came to a full stop. He heard the thunk of another bullet, and meeting the startled eyes of the taxi driver, Merlin shouted, “Go, go, go!”

Thankfully, the driver didn’t hesitate and the cab’s tyres screeched as it set itself in motion again.

 

***** 

By the time he wrapped up his part of the exposé, Arthur had just finished his fifth coffee. He was glad he was done, not just because of the massive weight off his chest, but also because all the hard work that had gone into it had taken a physical toll on him. He had bags under his eyes, hadn’t slept for more than 3 hours a night in weeks, and all the stress had made him jittery. But that might be the coffee, too, he thought.

He starting reading through his work when there was a furious knocking on his door. Arthur looked at the digital clock on the mantlepiece. 1:05 AM, a little late for visitors. Arthur opened his desk drawer and took out the gun. He'd never used it. It had been foisted on him when he'd started working on his current piece, a concerned colleague pushing it on him with worry written on his face. Arthur had since stashed it, telling himself that, of course, he wouldn't ever need it. It would never come to that. But in light of the latest happenings, he'd started to change his mind. The safety was on. He released it.

With soft steps he made it to the door. He wanted to laugh at himself. He was a journalist for god's sake not bloody James Bond. This made no sense. But he knew he would rue it if he didn't take precautions now. He could feel sweat breaking out on his palms as he looked through the spyhole, the gun uneasy in his hand. At first he saw nothing, which heightened his sense of danger. But then the person on the other side of the door shifted into view, and Arthur made out Merlin.

He put the gun's safety back on, shoved it in his back pocket and opened the door.

Merlin tumbled in, wet to the bone, hair sticking up, a harried air about him.

“What happened?” Arthur said, pulling him closer.

“Someone tried to kill me.”

Arthur had been on the alert ever since the knocks on the door, but hearing those words still brought on a wave of disbelief. But he knew Merlin wasn't lying. He knew something was the matter with him. It was just that their life had taken a turn for the absurd lately. 

“Come, sit down.” Arthur forced Merlin into an armchair in the living room. “And tell me what happened.”

“I just got out of the Advocate's building when I realised I was being followed.”

Arthur could already guess the answer, but he asked the question all the same. “Are you positive?”

Weariness seeping off him in waves, Merlin nodded. “Within a few minutes I was. They shot at me.”

“Shot at you?” Merlin could have died. That was the only thought that made it through to Arthur in the confusion of emotions working through him.

“Yeah.” Merlin sighed and his shoulders slumped. “Twice at the very least. I heard the sound of the bullets.”

Arthur wanted to ask Merlin how he'd got away, but, seeing as he'd made it here, that wasn't so important. “Was it a government man? Could you tell?”

“I was too busy running away to ask,” Merlin huffed. “But what else could he have been?”

“So it's about the exposé?” Arthur took to pacing.

Merlin shrugged, burying his head in his hands. “Must be. We weren't merely theorising, were we? We were right. Silchenko was right, wasn't he?”

“We would never have dared this if we hadn't believed him.”

Rubbing a hand down his face, Merlin breathed out. “I suppose not.”

“So the government is out to get us now.” He wished it was a question, but that was the only conclusion that made sense. Like everyone else Arthur had been raised to believe in authority, to respect politicians, to believe in justice. He still had faith in the latter, but over the years he'd lost any sort of respect for the former.

“It seems so.”

 

****

Six months before

 

The cafe was built on the city's largest Prospekt, the one facing the river. It was warm enough for tables to have been placed outside and for patrons to grace them. Inside crystal chandeliers hung over polished wooden bases. Display cases full of cake slices and other desserts graced the north side of the joint.

Merlin and Arthur shared a table, a sports publication belonging to some previous occupant lying discarded on its top.

“Who's your informer?” Arthur asked.

Before speaking Merlin made sure no one could overhear them. There was a couple sitting two tables over and an old lady had the spot by the window. Both groups of people were far too distant to be able to make out what Merlin was saying. Even so he made sure to use a low tone. “Military man, nicknamed the Bear, just north of thirty, was in the security services until a couple of months ago. Worked his way up to the upper tier of Aeredian’s security team, had access to just about everything. He’s helped us out on stories before, anonymously of course.”

“Why did he quit?” Arthur arched an eyebrow. “Or was he booted?”

“He quit before he could be booted. Had reservations for a long time, but something crossed a line for him. He couldn’t stop looking the other way,” Merlin replied. “Now, it seems he’s got a guilty conscience and knows a load of state secrets.”

“And he's willing to share some of them with us?” Arthur sounded skeptical of Merlin's man.

“One of them, at least.” Merlin finished his coffee. It was his second. Lately he was functioning more on caffeine than in normal circumstances. “He says it's important. That we need to know. Both of us.”

“And do you believe him?” Arthur asked.

“I trust Percival.” 

Percival Silchenko came in twenty minutes later. He was as big as his nickname suggested, wearing business attire which did nothing to hide his muscles, his suit straining at the seams. His hair was shaved to within an inch of its life and he still gave off a military aura. As he saw them, he made a beeline for them, taking the free chair out and sitting on it. “Mr Emrys, Mr Pendragon.”

Both Merlin and Arthur nodded, appearing interested but not overly so. They didn’t want anything to call undue attention to this meeting. Just some mates enjoying a coffee together.

Seeing her new customer, the waitress came round with a coffee for Percival before she was waved away. Stirring sugar into his cup, he started talking. “You know about the Kamelotskaya building explosion.”

“Who hasn't?” Arthur replied. “It's the reason for the war with Caerleonovia. The apartment bombers.”

“It was, wasn't it?” he answered. Percival ate the complimentary biscuit that came with the coffee, chewing slowly, stretching out the moment. “Everybody was so enraged. The Caerleonovians had sent terrorists to bomb our buildings. We were the victims of their evil politics. There was nothing to be done but retaliate in kind. Kamelot had to invade at that point, hadn't it?”

“That was the official goverment line.” Of course Merlin knew of it. His paper had published opinion pieces, editorials, hard news stories and readers’ letters which all backed up that position. If anyone held a contrary position, it never saw the light of day. “Kamelotskaya officials propounded it as the motive for aggression against our neighbors.”

“The popular outrage was so great--” Arthur had a far off look as if he was remembering. “--that people were enlisting left and right to fight the Caerleonovians. War was practically inevitable.”

“That's right.” Percival inclined his head. “The explosions fostered a climate of nationalist zeal.”

“I'm guessing you have something to tell us about the explosions,” Arthur put in. 

Percival hummed. “Yes. What if I told you I had proof the Caerleonovians were not behind the Kamelotskaya explosions?”

Merlin's blood pressure rose; his face heated. He felt like he was about to burst. This was the kind of information they had been angling for. This wasn't only a scoop, but provided it checked out, it was the kind of truth which needed to be told. He looked to Arthur. He had the same shocked yet excited look Merlin was probably wearing too. At Arthur’s nod, Merlin asked the question. “So who was?”

Percival lowered his voice. “Our own government.” Several moments of shocked silence met his words.

Finally, Arthur leaned forward. “Do you mean to say our government hired Caerleonovian men to bomb one of our own buildings?”

“Yes. They were double agents,” Percival said. “They didn't know it at the time, but the've been made to take the fall.”

“But why would the government want to kill its own people?” Merlin asked just before the answer came to him.

“To have a reason to declare war on Caerleonovia.” Percival's gaze grew more piercing by the second. “They've always wanted to interfere with their politics; annexe the country if at all possible and now they have an excuse, one that conveniently makes Kamelot the victim and not the aggressor.”

Merlin could well believe it. President Aeredian was the least trustworthy president the country had ever had and the list of dodgy candidates was long. The manner of his coming to power was questionable. His ties to the old security services – the people you employed if you wanted to set up a casus belli – were known. He took a deep breath, forcing his thoughts to stop racing ahead. Aeredian was a nasty fellow, but killing your own people to provoke a war of aggression with your neighbour? Merlin would need solid proof before making those kind of accusations in print. “We’ll need proof. Solid, irrefutable evidence. Not that I don’t believe you, Percival, but...”

Percival rooted inside his pocket and came up with a mini thumb drive, interrupting Merlin’s words as he handed it over. “There's everything on it. All manner of proof. From audio recordings to filched security files.” Merlin’s mind began to race again, pondering all the possible ways of cross-checking information like that.

Arthur palmed the memory stick, making it disappear into one of his pockets. “You know what this means for you.”

With a small shrug, Percival said, “I'm in danger now. I'd better disappear.”

“What if they trace it to you?” Merlin thought this fair warning. They were talking the government here. It had limitless power, boundless access. “The people we’re dealing with have ways of making you disappear, too, and in a far less pleasant way than whatever you’re planning.”

“The same goes for you,” Percival told them. “I made sure I wasn't followed, but the moment you open this line of enquiry is the moment you endanger yourselves.”

Merlin and Arthur exchanged a glance. They hoped they were both ready for it.

****

Six months later

 

“There's something else, too,” Arthur said. Merlin needed to be aware of everything that was happening. They had to have their eyes open. Their continued survival depended on it. “Someone's been through my flat.”

Merlin tensed. “They've been here?”

“It wasn't obvious.” Arthur remembered entering his flat; recollected how it he'd felt displaced in his home, how something had struck him as odd. “But someone's been through my things.”

“The files.” Merlin breathed out the words.

“They're fine.” Arthur patted his pockets. “I don't go out without them. I never leave them here.”

His whole body slumping, Merlin exhaled. “And your part of the exposé?”

“Finished.” Arthur could at least pride himself on that. “Yours?”

“Done.”

There was only one thing for them to do then. “We must go forward with it. Publish.”

“Yeah.” Merlin sighed, passing a hand across his brow. “Once it's out there, everybody will know what we know.”

True. The government would have a hard time staying in power. It would no longer be running on good faith. Caerleonovia would react, become more belligerent than it ever was. But in the end, they would be safer, everyone would, on both sides of the border.

But exposing the government in this way meant they would be branded as traitors. President Aeredian was already their secret antagonist but once their news story had destibilised him? Their lives would be in danger constantly. Even if the government was brought down, the President and his partisans would remain deadly adversaries. Nothing could guarantee their safety as long as they stayed in Kamelot.

“We can’t stay here, not in Kamelot. It’s time for us to leave.”

Merlin merely bobbed his head in agreement. They had discussed this. They had a plan, several plans in fact. Now that all their work was done, it was time to act. It was time for their radical, world-changing exposé to hit the press.

Arthur looked at Merlin then. He was still dripping wet and he was shivering now too, from more than the cold rain. No matter much how he hugged himself the trembling wouldn't stop. They both knew the kind of situation they were in, and what was at stake.

Merlin was so good at looking out for others. His whole job was an attempt to do so. Now the time had come for Arthur to coddle Merlin a little. After the night he'd had he certainly needed it.

“You need a warm shower and a change of clothes.”

Merlin startled as if he had only barely listened. “What? Oh, no, I got your armchair all wet.”

“Never mind the armchair.” Arthur waved away Merlin’s concern. What did furniture matter when Merlin had been shot at? He might’ve been killed. The man was still drenched and shaking. He needed some warmth worked into him, some time to gather himself. “Up you get. Get yourself in the bathroom. Use all the hot water you want.”

“Alright,” Merlin sighed out, picking himself up. He pulled off his jumper and peeled off the shirt underneath. He stood bare chested, his body pale with the cold, his skin clammy from the drenching rain he’d run through to get to Arthur. Even so, his naked torso was a sight for sore eyes, sending a sudden shock of need through Arthur. It was all long lines, spareness, but it had more span than one might expect, if used to seeing Merlin in his baggy clothing. He wasn't heavy with muscle but trim, lithe. “I do need to warm up.”

Arthur tried to stop staring. He shouldn't be ogling his friend like this. And it certainly wasn’t the time to act on his long-held crush. They were colleagues and they'd been journalistic partners so long he couldn't ruin it. Merlin's trust mattered more than Arthur's feelings. He fixed his gaze on the floor, willing the flush of arousal to abate. “I'll get you some towels.”

By the time Arthur retrieved them, together with some dry pieces of clothing, Merlin was in his boxers. Arthur swallowed hard. Right. They had so much to worry about, the world was crumbling about their heads, and here he was stealing glances at the man in front of him. No matter how he tried to curb his thoughts, his body was going to make his feelings obvious soon if Merlin didn’t cover up. “Fresh towels and clothes,” he announced, holding them in front of him like a shield.

“Thank you.” Merlin stepped into Arthur’s personal space and took the towels and clothes from his arms, then backed into the open bathroom door. His gaze lingered on Arthur as if he knew what Arthur was thinking. “I won't be but a minute.”

“Take as long as you like,” he murmured.

Arthur took himself to the drawing room. He worked on some files while the shower thundered on. He only did so absent-mindedly, trying to keep himself busy. He was editing articles that probably wouldn't see the light of day, not after they published the exposé. His thoughts stuck with Merlin, naked in his bathroom, wet and warm and clean.

They'd been a team for years; working jointly on stories they believed relevant. They had made a name for themselves. And, Arthur liked to think, they had acquired a reputation for honesty in their field. Their past collaborations had meant something both in the journalistic field and to Arthur personally. Their work together had enriched him; he couldn't endanger all that. Coming clean with Merlin would be a risk. Merlin might turn him down, tell him he was nothing more than a valued colleague, a good sounding board for their pieces, nothing more.

They'd also come to such dire straits, thinking of love seemed inappropriate somehow. How Arthur felt about Merlin was irrelevant when the world was in such chaos.

Merlin came out of the shower, wearing Arthur's jeans and an open pyjama shirt. Arthur stared resolutely at the screen of his computer.

“You said you were done with your part.”

“I am.” Arthur didn't want Merlin to think him a slacker. “But you know I'm a perfectionist.”

Merlin closed the lid of the laptop. “What you need now is some rest.”

Arthur watched Merlin go to the counter to fill the kettle with water. “I thought you were the one who'd had a stressful day.”

Merlin laughed. “I thought we were both stressed to the gills.”

Merlin, Arthur knew, was probably right. “Maybe, yeah.”

Merlin made the tea and carried the filled mugs to the sofa facing the quiescent TV set. He didn't sit on the sofa but on the floor at its feet, the mugs close to him. He patted the ground in a silent plea for Arthur to join him.

Arthur waited a few seconds, his brain imploding. If he got too close tonight things might happen. He might make a fool of himself. He wasn't sure he was ready to come clean to Merlin about his feelings. His relentless pursuit of the truth didn't touch his private life. He was a coward. He could battle injustice but he couldn't admit to what was in his heart.

Still Merlin was looking at him so expectantly Arthur couldn't let him down. He went and sat close to him, not so close their bodies grazed but near enough for Arthur to feel the warmth Merlin emanated.

Merlin passed him a mug.

Arthur drank, then made a face. “You laced the tea with something.”

“Rum.” Merlin lifted a shoulder. “I thought we both needed the punch.”

“Mmm.” Arthur nodded and drank. Given the night they were having, he could have done with the rum without the tea, but it was probably better this way. Safer. More prudent.

When Merlin was finished with his tea, he put the mug on the coffee table. He took Arthur's empty too and placed it next to him. He leant closer then, his scent wafting over to Arthur. Arthur gulped, widened his eyes. Merlin smiled and moved so close he was all Arthur could see. With a sigh Merlin moved forwards again. Their lips touched, a frisson travelling up Arthur's spine. “What--” he asked.

“I thought that's what you wanted.”

Arthur's ears thumped with his heartbeat. “It...” He must come out with it now. Merlin had found out. Merlin had to have some sort of feelings for him or he wouldn't be doing this. And Arthur had wanted this for years now. It was something he'd known and suppressed for so long he almost couldn't believe it was happening. “Yes.” It sounded like he had run for miles, like he'd climbed mountains and fought hordes of enemies. “Yes, you’re what I want.”

He started thinking about their working relationship, the danger that faced them, the complication this was going to be but all thoughts dissolved when Merlin's lips pressed on his, when his tongue touched his, slowly finding its place in Arthur's mouth. It was all soft and slow, heart burning and soul warming. Arthur touched Merlin's face with all the reverence he could command, drank him in with all he had.

They sat there and necked like young things. They kissed and touched, learning the shape of shoulders, throats, flanks, tasting the heady taste of each other until they were dizzy with it. Their mouths chased skin, were cushioned by softness, by hardness. Their tongues tasted salt, tasted sweat.

They inched hands under fabric; they mouthed above it. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't what they wanted. Merlin's top came off with a push. Arthur unbuttoned his shirt with fingers that wouldn't quite connect.

Soon they were both bare to the waist, and Arthur felt all the shivers of anticipation the situation could induce. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Merlin in this state of semi-nakedness. A scant hour before, Arthur had seen Merlin in a similar state. But then he hadn't had permission to look. Now he was allowed, so he basked in the sight.

He almost couldn't believe it. Merlin was here, half-naked and in his arms. Arthur wanted nothing more. So he took in his fill, the bareness of him, all bones and a little muscle, the litheness of him, the verticality of him, the way dark hair sprinkled his chest, more visible than Arthur's, the paleness of his skin.

Arthur skimmed a hand down Merlin's chest, felt Merlin react at the touch. He put kisses to that torso then, closing his mouth around Merlin's nipple, evoking bitten off sounds from Merlin whenever he did so. Arthur pushed Merlin down so he was lying flat on the rug. He straddled him and kissed his chest with his open mouth, grazing skin and muscle while Merlin arched beneath him.

Arthur heard Merlin's stifled noises and struggled to keep quiet himself. He barely could control his heartbeat, couldn’t stop thinking of what this moment entailed, what it meant to them both, let alone suppress his natural instincts. He didn't think he'd ever been this happy. Showing it, however wasn't easy. It meant allowing others to see his fragile side, the secrets he'd stashed away over the years. But letting go was so attractive right now, so much what he wanted. If sex helped him show Merlin his feelings then he wanted it all the more. The physicality of this was already killing him, giving him more than he'd ever enjoyed.

With Merlin everything clicked. Normally intimacy was hard; it was a negotiation of boundaries. But with Merlin it was a synching of needs; a tacit understanding of wants. There was no tentativeness with him, no shame, just the ease of bodies.

Arthur moved lower, his lips level with the waistband of Merlin's jeans, a noticeable bulge tenting them. Arthur popped the button and pulled down the zip. Merlin closed his eyes and bit off a moan. Arthur pressed his lips to Merlin's groin, mouthing him through the material of his underwear.

Merlin cupped his neck and guided him to his mouth for a kiss that was deep and passionate; even while it was going on Arthur pulled down Merlin's boxers then he undid his own trousers and pulled down his briefs. He touched them together, taking both of their breaths away, making them harden further, making them wet. Arthur slid his hand down Merlin's length, rubbed him till Merlin's breath came hard, got syncopated, until Merlin's hips rose from the floor and thrust into Arthur's fist.

Arthur was happy with the result. They had so much on their minds. Fear was lodged in their hearts. Their future was murky; God alone knew what would happen to them. But they had this moment; they had each other. It was more than Arthur would have dared ask for, more than he would have prayed for.

“God,” he said, for lack of better words. “I want to make you come.”

He'd wanted that for a long time; all those long nights together, all of their brushing shoulders, working through research and arguing about sources, writing and re-writing, sharing terrible coffee and dodgy meals, loving every moment of their hard work, of what they created together, proud of their craft. And all along, Arthur had desired his colleague like he never had anyone else. Their work together was meaningful and had always come first. But this meant something too. It meant so, so much.

Merlin shuddered out a breath when Arthur wrapped his fingers around him and touched his lips to him, licking the head of his cock with the flat of his tongue. Merlin's hips came off the floor, pistoned in one small, instinctive jerk. Arthur steadied him with a palm, calmed him with a few words, let him breathe it out. Merlin was something else like this, forehead beaded with sweat, eyes spirited, body tense with his straining. He was beautiful.

Arthur bent over him and stopped thinking of their future, of tomorrow, of the truths they had uncovered. He only wanted to see Merlin's pleasure surface. See his passion to come to light.

Merlin's hands scrambled, sought purchase. His body arched. When Arthur drew back, Merlin made to grab for him. Arthur had no intention of stopping; he'd only taken a breather. But Merlin's reactions made him a little bolder, a little more daring. He used his tongue on Merlin, on the head and underside, searching under the hood with it, till Merlin was moaning quite liberally now, with no thought to suppressing the sounds.

Knowing he was doing this right for Merlin, Arthur slid down, till he was close to tears himself, till he had Merlin's smell deep in his nostrils and Merlin was all that he could think about. He slid back, breathed, then bobbed down again. Merlin shuddered from top to toe, trying to pull Arthur off. He came and Arthur let himself taste it.

Arthur was close himself. Doing this for Merlin had excited him to the point of no return. He shed the briefs he had lowered, placed himself between Merlin's legs. He used lubricant on him, then entered him, fitting their bodies together until they were an interlocked puzzle. For a number of seconds, he didn't dare move. He looked Merlin in the eye and breathed. He let the intimacy of it wash over him; he let his feelings for Merlin wax inside his heart till he was experiencing too much, so much of it hurt. Everything he felt for this man was writ on his face for all to see.

He moved in slow in and out motions. Once, twice. He was already so high-strung he couldn't possibly last long. On the third thrust he froze. Despite his determination to last longer, he came, the physical impact of their act taking him in a storm, a flood.

Afterwards, when their bodies had parted, he lay his head on Merlin's chest. He could feel his heartbeat, could sense the warmth of his flush ebbing away.

“So what do we do now?” They both knew what Arthur meant by that.

“Tomorrow, the exposé goes to print, right after we leave.”

They couldn't stay in the country that much was obvious. Someone had tried to kill Merlin, had been in Arthur's flat. They had both been lucky, but they were being watched, targeted. They may not be so lucky the next time. “We can't--” Arthur's voice didn't work. “We can't go together.”

As he played with Arthur's hair, Merlin sighed, but nodded. “We can't. We're like sitting ducks already. As a pair we're more of a target.”

“So we part.” Arthur rested his weight on his elbow so he could look at Merlin. If he had to leave him behind; if they had to go their separate ways then he wanted to imprint him on his memory, study him for every quirk and foible that he had. That way Merlin was going to be in his heart and in his thoughts and Arthur could never forget him.

Merlin licked his lips; his eyes were watery, his voice raw, low. “For now.”

Arthur moved up Merlin's body and took his mouth in a kiss. “In that case I want to do it all over again.”

He touched Merlin's body with intent.

 

****

 

The stairway was seedy, dirty. Posters peeled off the walls in tears and rags. Discarded tins, plastic wrappers and other debris sat on the steps. The door to the room they'd been pointed to was metal, rusty.

Arthur looked at Merlin and once he'd got a nod from him, knocked twice.

The man who opened was young, pale, with dark curly hair and round blood-shot green eyes. He was wearing a concert t-shirt with holes in it. The track marks on his arms told a sad story.

“Mordred,” Merlin said.

“Yeah.” Mordred looked past them, as if he expected someone to barge in on them. “Come in, make it fast.”

Percival had included Mordred’s contact information along with the other materials he gave them for their story. Apparently, Mordred had supplied other people their credentials, so Arthur and Merlin decided to take a chance that he could do the same for them. Percival had noted that keeping his mouth shut was the reason Mordred was still in business. In exchange for some underhanded work, the government looked the other way.

The room they entered was square, on the small side, stacked with professional printers and piles of paper of different quality. Passports and other documents lay in a pile surrounded by the detritus of printing, crumpled up batches of proofs, boxes of toner, spent cartridges. Other esoteric machinery was crammed in the small space.

“Have you got our passports?” Arthur didn't want to stay here any longer than he had to.

“Yeah, yeah.” Mordred checked a pile of waiting documents. “Payment first, then you get the goods.”

Arthur extracted an envelope from his wallet and watched Merlin do the same. Mordred took the envelopes, opened them, and counted out the wads of banknotes. “I thought I said seventy thousand.”

“You said fifty thousand, twenty five thousand each.” Arthur was starting to sweat. Their article would go to print within hours, and they still needed to get to the airport, get out of Kamelot. Who could tell how quickly the government would move against them once the truth was out for all to read?

“I had to work in a hurry,” Mordred said. “You owe me a premium for a quick delivery.”

Arthur wanted to argue, he didn't appreciate being manipulated. It wasn't about the money. When you were risking your life, money wasn't a consideration anymore. But being veritably blackmailed still stung. They’d had an agreement and Mordred was reneging on it. He was about to read Mordred the riot act when Merlin shot Arthur a look and shook his head. He handed Mordred another wad of bills. Arthur sighed audibly but said nothing.

They both watched as Mordred slowly counted the added funds.

Now Arthur wanted to punch him, but provoking Mordred would only lead to a savage brawl. They wouldn't get their passports and they needed to leave the country, now.

“That’s everything,” Mordred eventually said. “I should demand more for that bad attitude of yours,” he snorted, with a jerk of his chin in Arthur’s direction.

Forgetting equanimity, even Merlin ground his teeth. Arthur narrowed his eyes, guessing that they could still take their passports after he pummelled Mordred into unconsciousness.

Mordred must have picked up on the sinister turn of mood, for he finally produced the passports with a flourish. As Merlin and Arthur examined them, he boasted, “They're perfect. They will pass any scrutiny. I have a reputation to uphold, you know, and my work is the best.”

Merlin and Arthur shared a quick glance. They weren’t counterfeiting experts, but the passports looked legit to them. Hopefully Mordred had more pride in his workmanship than he had scruples. They were betting their lives on it.

 

***** 

 

They were parked in front of the airport terminal, in a friend's car. They had minimal luggage, but enough to look like holiday travellers. Rain fell on the windscreen, pattering against it in rhythmical surges.

Merlin sat beside Arthur, drinking in their last moments together for the foreseeable future. Merlin’s flight was in a few hours, Arthur’s sooner than that. In the passenger’s seat, Arthur held his new passport in his hand, toying with the edges of the document.

“So it's time.”

Merlin felt torn in two. He was happy the exposé was out by now. He had wanted to stir people's animus against the government. He knew it would open some eyes, provoke some hard discussions, possibly leading to real change. He didn't regret any of that. Years of work had gone into it. Compared to what others had lost, Merlin’s sacrifices were minimal. Except for this. He didn't want to lose Arthur just now he'd found him. This loss felt big enough to crush him.

They'd worked side by side for years; collaborated on their story for so long, they'd developed an unrivalled intimacy. Merlin had basked in it, felt his better side nurtured by the relationship. Love had grown inside him day by day. He'd never known what to call it till it spelt itself out on its own.

He'd just started to enjoy it, to understand what it meant to him. Everything, the world. And now it was over. They were subject to an uncertain future, to untold risk, more than they'd ever faced. He would never regret the decision to publish their work, that had been too important to skip. But he wistfully wanted to keep Arthur by his side, despite knowing the danger. Separated, they had a chance to survive the coming media storm. They were too well known as a duo. Even without knowing of the romantic turn their relationship had taken, the people of Kamelot knew them as Merlin and Arthur, the one always with the other.

“It is,” Merlin replied softly.

They parted without kissing, touching, without saying goodbye. Merlin didn't do any of those things because he knew his heart would shatter if he so much as got any closer to Arthur, if he voiced his feelings. He didn't know exactly how Arthur was feeling. He seemed clear-eyed and self-contained, his jaw set, his muscles taut. He shouldn't have, but Merlin hoped Arthur felt the burden of this separation like Merlin did.

Merlin watched him walk towards the terminal, case in tow, collar popped against the rain. He didn't drive off until he couldn't see Arthur anymore.

 

**** 

Arthur flew into Turkey first, to shake Kamelotskaya's security services off his scent in case they were following closely. After several hours tensely waiting, he continued to the UK. On the flight out of his country, he hadn't spoken to anyone; he'd kept his head down. He had scarcely eaten and only drunk water. He needed to stay clear headed. He hadn't liked the idea of flying, of locking himself in such a contained space, like a sitting duck. If word had got out, and if he had been spotted there was nothing he could have done. The plane would be turned around, his life in the hands of the pilot, and ultimately the government.

Arthur had sweated and cringed; feared and dreaded. He tried to sleep, but jerked awake at every sound. Every announcement by the Captain made him shake in his seat. He imagined the Captain announcing the plane had to turn around because of an enemy of the state on board.

Each time flight assistants had passed down the aisle Arthur had ducked his head and pretended he was reading a cheap airport paperback, holding himself in check for any tell-tale signs of recognition, any spark of undue attention. If he'd acted like a hounded man, he would have been recognised.

But now he'd landed, and passed through the passport control queue. Mordred hadn’t been lying. The passport passed muster. As soon as he was out of the terminal, he flagged a taxi and gave the address of the UK border agency in Croydon. Once there, he hailed the first officer he could find.

“My name is Arthur Pendragon,” he declared, “and I'm asking for political asylum.”

 

****

Merlin had a script. He and Arthur had cooked it up together, even practiced it a few times when it was clear their work was nearly finished. He knew what to say, how he ought to behave. He'd never been much of an actor, his life was about telling the truth, not pretending to be someone else. But he knew he could do it. He had to. If this failed, he was done for. But that wouldn’t be fair to Arthur. He would do this for Arthur.

When the Homeland Security Officer was examining his passport, Merlin took a deep breath and found his courage. 

“I'm here to seek political asylum of the United States of America.”

 

*****

Arthur watched as the man walked round the table and took a seat opposite him. He was tall, buff, with curly, longish hair and a beard, and more muscle than a simple office worker should vaunt. Arthur suspected this man had field experience, could handle himself in a fight. His jaw taut with the seriousness of the business at hand, he began the interview.

“My name is Officer Leon Knight and this is interview number 150,” he said for the benefit of a recording device. “You have told me your name is Arthur Pendragon, and your country of origin is Kamelot.”

Arthur nodded and showed Officer Knight his real passport, which he'd kept stashed in an inside pocket of his jacket.

“I have to assume the other passport in your possession is fake,” Officer Knight asked, though they both knew the answer to that question.

What Arthur said now was of importance. Using false documents was a chargeable offence. “It is. I'm fleeing my country. I couldn't use my own identification because I would have been stopped from boarding. My life is in danger.”

“You'll have to be more specific, sir. What danger are you in? Why do you need asylum?” Officer Knight seemed neither swayed nor moved.

“I'm a journalist. I… my colleague and I… we published an article, an exposé.” Arthur recounted the facts, including the attempt on Merlin's life. He stressed the danger he was in for having shone the light on the government’s corrupt activity, the deaths of his fellow citizens, the collusion between President Aeredian and his rabid security agency. Journalists in Kamelot had disappeared for writing unflattering articles on the President. What he and Merlin had done was so much worse. “If I return to my country, I'm a dead man.”

Leon Knight arched an eyebrow. “You're sure of that?”

Arthur tried not to lose his calm. This man didn’t know what Arthur knew. He needed to make him understand. “We didn't publish our denunciation anonymously. We couldn’t, not if we were to be believed. The government will be on our backs in a thrice.”

Knight nodded. “We have records of political murders in your country.”

Arthur refrained from saying that the international community had done nothing to stop those goings on, no comments, no threats. The EU had said nothing; not a squeak had come from the United Nations. “Then you know why I need my asylum request be accepted. You need to help me.”

“It's not within my sole power to grant asylum personally,” Knight said. “There's a process.”

Arthur knew that applications were assigned to a specific member of UK Border Agency staff, that that person was meant to be responsible for the case, and for all decisions taken on it. If Knight was the case owner, then he was going to be accountable for the entire procedure. “I see.”

“I need you to answer a few more questions before you fill in the forms.”

Arthur understood that he was at this man's mercy, his fate depended on him.

“You used a false passport to enter the country,” Leon Knight said, studying a bunch of papers. “You realise that's prejudicial to your case. It's a prosecutable offence.”

Arthur had come prepared for this question at least. “I had to. I told you couldn't use my name in my own country. I’m well-known for my writing. If I used my own name, I would have been stopped.”

“I'll have to ask you to surrender this false document.”

The passport had cost him an arm and a leg and in a way, was a tangible reminder of Merlin. Getting the passports was the last thing they had done together before the drive to the airport. But Arthur needed Officer Knight’s goodwill. Besides, this was the first time he'd ever broken the law. Arthur fished in his pocket and gave over his fake passport.

Officer Knight put it in a clear plastic bag, which he sealed. “Do you believe that living in the United Kingdom will shield you from the enemies you have made in your country?”

“Yes, I do.” That was what Arthur hoped at the very least.

“Fill in the forms,” Knight said. “You’ll be called back for a ‘screening interview’. That is the first step in the procedure. Then you'll meet someone for your substantive interview. The whole process lasts a few weeks. Hope you don’t mind living in a cheap hotel for a while.”

Arthur knew all that. He had sought out as much information as possible about this process. He didn't say anything to Officer Knight. He was too busy being on tenterhooks regarding his future.

 

*****

Merlin found a job the third week after his asylum request was granted. It was for a small newspaper in Boston. At other times he would probably have thought that he was downgrading from his former position in his country, but right now he was just glad he had a right to stay in the US, where he was safer. Relatively. At least here the long arm of the Kamelot government couldn't reach him.

So he put his head down. He worked. He tried not to tell his story, for fear of raising too many questions, attracting too much attention. He still wrote honestly. When he had to denounce the political situation in his part of the world he did so openly and without qualms. When he had to speak about the US political situation he did so in good conscience, criticising the government even if it had given him asylum. He was on sufferance in the country; he understood that. But he wouldn't let it gag him. He followed his conscience. He didn't have everything exactly like he wanted, but he was alive and being productive. On that front he couldn't complain. He might have even been called content.

Yet there was something the matter with him, a great weight he carried in his chest, locked deep in his heart. Missing Arthur, their day to day activities, their collaboration, was like being without the most vital part of him. It hurt subtly, with a keenness that made itself felt when he was at his loneliest, in the moments of stillness, when the hustle and bustle of his new life, his new projects, abated.

But he couldn't get in touch with Arthur yet. That wasn't part of their plan. It wasn't safe yet. If the Kamelot government had tabs on them, that could expose them to all sorts of dangers. Merlin’s worst fear was being compromised himself and being forced to give up Arthur. He knew enough about his government’s actions, he had no doubt they could make him talk given enough time. And Merlin wanted to protect Arthur from them at all costs. Even if his heart ached, he was ready to grin and bear it for his sake.

Still, sometimes when he looked out the window of his house, in a suburban area of Boston, which looked different from any place that was familiar to him, Merlin thought with longing of Arthur.

**** 

Boxes stood piled high in one corner of the Notting Hill flat. They were still taped, still to be opened. But Arthur knew what was inside of them. They contained books and furniture. Neither were strictly his. He had duly purchased them, true; but they weren't the things he'd left behind in Kamelot. His old armchair, which had shaped itself along the lines of his body, the one Merlin had drenched with rainwater on that fateful night, was missing. His dog-eared collection of well-loved books had been replaced by pristine copies of new tomes. The chipped mug he had acquired in Uni was long gone. Merlin had teased him about it, asked how he felt drinking pottery shards with his tea. Arthur suppressed a hearty laugh. He would miss that old mug, because of its history, because of what it meant to him, who it reminded him of.

Pulling the first box to him, he went on his haunches and, with a Swiss knife, cut across the tape, opening the container.

He was about to lift the books out of it, when his doorbell rang.

Arthur knew a moment of fear; nobody had this address. Nobody. He knew no one here in London except the people he met in passing. He was polite to them but purposefully cool. He didn't want ties right now. They were a danger to him. If the wrong person got hold of him, found out about his past, he was done. So who could it be?

Arthur picked up the hammer he had stashed by to put the bookshelves up. It was a very impromptu weapon but they had no other. Cursing the lack of a peephole, he opened the door.

A woman stood on the other side of the threshold. She was of medium height with brown hair that fell to her shoulders. She was beautiful but her expression was very serious, very impersonal, which detracted from her stunning features, normalising them. “My name's Mithian Nemeth.” She showed him her warrant card. “I'm with the UK Border Force.”

There was a chance she was lying, but her identification was legitimate enough. He had to act on faith here, however risky that was. He opened the door a fraction wider and let her step inside. “Come in.”

As she moved past him, she noticed the hammer.

Arthur put it on the mantel. “I was doing some DIY.”

“I see.” She eyed the hammer and then him rather sceptically. It was clear she didn't believe him but she didn't add a word about that.

“Is there something wrong with my asylum request?” Arthur asked. “I thought it was nearly through.”

“It is.” She looked around; seemed to take in the bareness of Arthur's new place. She appeared to have expected it; or it conformed to her expectations. “I have something else to talk about.”

Arthur showed her to the chair. “I'm all ears.”

She placed her bag on the table and crossed her legs. “Mr Pendragon, the government has taken stock of your situation and is willing to accept that you're in danger and would be more so if allowed to return to your country.”

“That was what I stated in the form.”

“I realise that.” Ms Nemeth wetted her lips. “As I said, you're very close to getting exactly what you want.”

Arthur thought there was something she was not exactly saying. He prompted her with a “So?”

“Let's say that asylum can be yours if you help the government with something.”

“Quid pro quo.” Arthur understood its workings.

“Indeed.” Nemeth sounded as though she didn't want to say what she was about to. There was a distaste in her demeanour that was clearly readable. Yet when she said the words, she was precise with them, unflinching. “You are acquainted with Percival Silchenko?”

Arthur was unafraid to admit it. He had stated as much in his asylum request. “You're not Border Police, are you?”

Nemeth's eyes smiled, though her mouth didn't move. “Let's say I'm intelligence.”

“And you want me to help you get information from Silchenko about the Kamelot Security Services?”

“It would be of tremendous value to Her Majesty's government. Valuable enough to warrant granting your asylum request, I would say.”

If Arthur became a go between then he could stay and be safe. If he didn't, it was likely he would see himself barred from that tenuous grasp on protection. On the one hand he didn't like the idea of selling his friends to whatever group that was in power; on the other he had precious little choice and he felt Silchenko would help. Percival was tired of the Security Services’ double dealings and outright corrupt behavior. He had opened up to Merlin and Arthur, trusting them, hoping they could help save their country. Would Britain be an ally in this cause? It was most certainly the only one so far. “I see.”

 

*****

Merlin looked at the phone in its cradle, then gazed away. He picked it up, then put the receiver back down. It was something he wanted to do, but couldn't. Arthur's safety counted more than his feelings. And though his feelings haunted him day and night, he couldn't act on them. It just wasn't right.

Besides, he had only the vaguest notion of where Arthur might be. If everything had gone according to plan, it would still be a stab in the dark to locate him. There would be too many hoops to jump through to maintain their safety. He ached to see him again, but would not jeopardize his safety to assuage his own loneliness.

The time would come, he had to believe, when he and Arthur could be together again.

****

 

Arthur waited in the hotel bar, watching waiters pass by. They scurried past with purpose, their starched uniforms black and grey, dull compared to the glittering lights in the foyer and the myriad guests coming and going. The wait staff carried trays with teapots and cups, serving patrons of every variety, from tourists to staid elderly ladies. From time to time he glanced at the entrance. Women with fur stoles entered from the hotel side, the post theatre crowd from the street side. Arthur's contact was not among them.

He read the newspaper he'd brought around. He didn't write much himself anymore, but liked being up to scratch, to confront himself with the ideas other writers put forward. Plus, he was interested in what was going on in Kamelot, and with no personal ties to his country, he had to resort to the press to keep up to speed.

He was deep into an article when Muirden appeared. Without standing on ceremony, Muirden took the seat opposite Arthur's and hailed a waiter. He took their orders, tea for both, as well as cucumber sandwiches.

Arthur knew more about Edwin Muirden than he wanted to, and what he knew turned his stomach. Between the information contained on the memory stick Silchenko had passed to him all those months ago to the added information he had received from MI-6, he knew he was sitting down to tea with a man of dubious standing. Muirden was Percival’s former boss. Arthur suspected Muirden was here to try to tease out the name of the KSS leak. Muirden had been charming enough in their interactions thus far, belying his reputation. Today would likely be another game of cat and mouse, of sly looks and traded barbs.

Arthur reminded himself that he was doing this for the promised asylum. Mithian Nemeth had guaranteed that after this one final meeting, Arthur would be free of any further obligations to Her Majesty’s government, and free to begin his new life as a British subject. After today, Arthur could seek out Merlin. They could be together, finally.

“So have you considered coming back?” Muirden asked, one eyebrow raised in question.

“The situation hasn't changed.” In spite of his and Merlin's exposé President Aeredian was still in power. Perhaps less firmly than before but he still had a hold on politics. “So I'm not likely to return.”

“That's not wise, Arthur,” Muirden said.

“I actually believe it is wise. From my standpoint at least,” Arthur quipped. “Your people tried to kill my colleague, broke into my house.”

“Exaggerations and misunderstandings,” he huffed. “You're not on anybody's hit list, Arthur, I can assure you.” Muirden silenced himself when the waiter appeared with their tea. He grabbed at one of the tea pots, upending it and spilling liquid across the marble table top. “Oh, I'm sorry.” He fussed with both pots though only one was upended, waving off the waiter’s help. “I'm so clumsy. We'll have another, of course.” He mopped up some of the spilt tea. “Arthur, take the standing pot. After all it was me who ruined the other.”

Arthur demurred. “I can wait for a fresh one.”

Muirden smiled. “I insist.”

Arthur didn't want to trade pleasantries with Muirden. He wanted this meeting over with, and as quickly as possible, and if Muirden wanted this farce of a tea party, Arthur would go along. He took the pot, dipped a tea bag in, and waited for the tea to brew.

He poured the tea into his cup and was about to take a sip when Mithian Nemeth came running in, heading directly for their table. Arthur knew his meetings with Muirden were observed by MI-6, but they had never shown themselves, preferring to keep Muirden in the dark about the surveillance. Arthur jumped up from his chair and backed away from the table as Mithian and her colleagues surrounded Muirden’s chair, weapons drawn. The silly grin he had been sporting as Arthur poured the tea was now a furious scowl.

“That tea is laced with a powerful poison,” she stated, “and you are under arrest Edwin Muirden.”

Arthur looked from Muirden to the poisonous tea cup and back again, appalled.

 

*****

 

Merlin was sitting in his cubicle, his computer whirring on, when Gwen came over to him. Of all his new colleagues she was the one he'd most connected with. Sometimes exchanging a few words with someone as nice as she was, with no ulterior motive involved, was just what he needed. Sure, he may not have that easy rapport he had with Arthur, but he needed simple friendship to keep going.

“Merlin,” she said, sitting on the edge of his work desk, “have you heard?”

Merlin had been working on an article for the past two hours; he'd been engaged on nothing else. “No, what's up?”

“There's been an attempt on Arthur Pendragon's life at a hotel in London. Poisoned tea, of all things, delivered by Edwin Muirden himself. Isn’t he head of the KSS?”

Merlin lost his tether to reality and grief flooded him. He felt himself go cold and his vision darkened. He swivelled the chair towards her; or perhaps his head just swam. Arthur? Muirden? Poison? “Is he... Is he dead?”

“Oh no, Merlin, Arthur is fine,” Gwen added quickly, realizing her initial words had left out this important fact. “But his waiter was taken ill. He handled the stuff Pendragon was meant to be poisoned with.”

The room stopped swirling around Merlin abruptly. He found his feet and was able to reason clearly. “That's... that's horrible.”

“Oh yes it is. Poor waiter.” Compassion shone in Gwen's face. “But there's something positive to come out of this.”

“What good could come from this? Arthur and I gave up everything and nothing has changed if Muirden thinks that murder is the solution to an inconvenient truth.”

“Merlin, the incident has garnered so much interest there's unrest in Kamelot,” Gwen told him. “The whole country was a powder keg after the expose was written, but the government clamped down tightly on any further information. But now, with the attempt made on Arthur’s life everything you wrote is being read again, and taken as gospel truth. This was the match which finally lit the bonfire. There've been uprisings, mobs are in the streets and main squares. President Aeredian hasn’t commented because he was caught attempting to flee the country!”

Merlin let a pencil roll of the table. He didn't bother picking it up. “What, what are you saying?”

“The regime in Kamelot is crumbling, Merlin.” She dragged him to the newsroom where a television hung from the wall. Images succeeded each other fast on the screen. They were of general agitations; of people protesting in Kamelotskaya's main square, pulling down the President’s statue, and brandishing anti-government banners. Arthur and Merlin were mentioned over and over. Some protested the slaughter of innocents at the apartment complex and the role of Security Services in the incident. The news ticker scrolled by. The words he read were a balm to Merlin’s soul. President Aeredian had been missing for hours. No statement was forthcoming from the Parliament. The entire political system was in total chaos. Young opposition leaders were making speeches.

Merlin wrung his hands together. “This is it. This is what we've been waiting for.”

“Yes.” Gwen seemed to understand what Merlin was going through, for she put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him close.

“I can't believe this.” Merlin couldn't make out the images anymore for the tears in his eyes. Hope sprung from between the crevices of his broken soul. A lightness overtook him that made him quite giddy. He had to plant his feet wide so as not to reel and hang on to Gwen to maintain verticality. “It's happening.”

“If Aeredian goes,” Gwen asked. “Will you go back to your country?”

Even if that happened, there was still way to go before Kamelot got a proper democracy. The very framework of government had to change; new people had to take over. People who cared about the country and wanted to see it prosper rather than filling their pockets and feeding their egos. But that was immaterial now that the first step had been taken, now that change was coming. The general populace had reacted and now was the time to use that momentum to get the country to evolve, become the democracy it could be, usher in a new golden age of peace, prosperity and equity. One step at a time. Merlin could make a real difference in that change, see it through to completion. With Arthur.

“Of course. Of course, I will.”

 

******

Crowds filled the main square and the streets that led to it, as far as the eye could see. There were so many people clamouring for peace and a new era, they seemed like ants. They held up placards and banners, which waved in the spring wind, filled like sails. They were loud, vociferous, chanting and mouthing slogans. Not one voice converged; the chorus was cacophonous and loud, but it was the voice of the street, the voice of the people.

Arthur and Merlin stood on stage: watched the goings on. Aglain, the leader of the opposition was making a speech, holding the microphone stand with his hand, his mouth grazing the mic's jacket. From time to time he punctuated his speech with an upwards wave of his hand, a physical gesture that stressed his point.

“With President Aeredian gone, the country can be reborn,” Aglain said. “We can put the past behind us and create a better future for us all.”

The people clapped and voiced their enthusiasm.

Aglain continued. “We can put a stop to dubious arrests, political killings, and ballot tampering, the hallmarks of the Aeredian government. We can make sure a new democracy is born, where we listen to everyone's voice from the humblest to the richest.” The crowd seemed to agree with him, which gave Aglain momentum. “We can forge a new alliance. We can choose a new path. We can wipe away the abuses of the past.”

Arthur and Merlin shared a look. These were the words they wanted to hear. These were statements they could believe in. All that they had fought for was slowly coming true. The forces they had battled against were on the wane. Change was so close they could taste it.

Arthur couldn't believe his luck. Everything had been so grim. The outlook for their future hadn't been positive. They had had only death or persecution to look forward to. Yet the stand they had taken had meant something. Their work had caused ripples; they had made a difference, the one they'd striven for.

Even their private life had taken a hit. Arthur had just found Merlin when he lost him to distance and circumstance. They had risked never getting together again. They had risked not holding hands ever again. They had been so close to losing each other for reasons they had no power against, only a willingness to love.

Yet here they were, reunited, clinging to each other as if they still could not believe it, basking in Aglain's words of hope. As Aglain spoke on, they sidled closer. Sometimes they let go of each other, but it wasn't for long. They still needed the comfort of physical contact, of knowing they wouldn't be separated again. They were a team after, all.

When Aglain called them on to speak they were greeted with an overwhelming burst of enthusiasm, applause that rang out powerfully before it died down with a gesture from Merlin.

It was time for them to address the nation; to take even more of a stand than they had so far. They had helped destroy the basis of Aeredian's power; they'd helped sweep away his regime. But now time had come for constructive talk, for building a power structure that would ensure peace and prosperity.

Arthur was all for that. Even if it meant leaving journalism behind for politics. Merlin still was reluctant to put down the pen; he would still valiantly write political columns. Action had to be pre-eminent now.

So Arthur took that mic and a step forward. “People of Kamelot,” he said, “the future is here now.”

Merlin smiled at him and Arthur knew he had everything he had ever wanted.

 

The End


End file.
